The McCarty Era
by benie
Summary: Emmett had “a little too much fun” during his twenty human years. He also had a family, friends, and a dislike of dancing.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **I've always liked Emmett, but I never really thought about his history much until I read the 'Emmett and the Bear' outtake on Stephenie Meyer's site. Emmett says he had "a little too much fun during his twenty human years." Okay, but _what does that mean_? That got me thinking, and eventually I started writing.

This won't be novel length (or at least not _Twilight_ length) but is should be a decent size length when I'm done (and I am determined to finish). Please leave me a comment, even if you just want to say it's good (or horrible). I'd appreciate it.

Thanks for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Prologue**

_The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague.  
Who shall say where one ends and the other begins?_  
-Edgar Alan Poe

I had never feared death. Even now, when I was sure to die, I couldn't bring myself to worry, to beg for salvation I didn't deserve, to fight to hold onto a life I couldn't keep.

Life vs. Death was the ultimate battle and I had lost. For once I was going to be a graceful loser.

There was something morbidly ironic about that.

Lying on my back on the forest floor, I had to convince myself that I wasn't seeing _the_ light, just bits of earthly sunlight making their way through the trees. My sisters had always said I never appreciated nature enough- now I was. I stared upwards, attempting to absorb the final moments of life allotted to me before I died.

Every few seconds my vision would cloud, fog over. My eyelids would droop, only to be forced open with my last bits of strength. I knew I was losing consciousness, but I fought it every step of the way.

If I had to die I wanted to cherish these last moments. Judging by the battle noises in the background, it wouldn't be long until one of the brutes came to finish me off.

Now I just needed to wait.

I had always heard that a person's whole life flashes before him in his final moments. All of life's most treasured, most poignant memories were supposed to come to mind. Having never been too sentimental, I was happy it didn't happen that way for me.

I saw the last few days…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** The Prologue is so short I decided to upload this at the same time. Also, I forgot to thank my sister for being my beta for this, and putting up with all of my annoying insecurity. I love you cow.

On a different note, I don't want to be sued, so I'd better put up a disclaimer of some sort.

I do not own Emmett, or the Twilight Universe.

I'll only mention it once, but see my bio if you need a refresher.

* * *

**Determination **

_Winning isn't everything, but wanting to win is._**  
-**Vince Lombardi

Like everything in life, all challenges are 10 percent physical and 90 percent mental. It was your thoughts, not a lack of physical strength or strategy that made the difference between victory and defeat. A confident competitor could best any opponent if he convinced himself he could; physical strength was secondary.

I had both.

Standing across from me, mirroring my position exactly, stood one of the few people I knew still brave enough (or foolish enough) to challenge me. He stared me down- past experience had taught him not let me surprise him.

"For both our sakes, little brother, I hope you win this time. If I keep beating you, you might give up," I taunted him, knowing my words would only make him more upset, make him try that much harder. Good. It would mean that much more when I won.

He glared at me. I winked back.

Off to the side someone was listing the rules to us. No kicking, no hair pulling, no scratching, no biting. With the exception of the last rule, neither of us would ever stoop to such levels. I smirked as the list continued, as the regulations grew steadily more ridiculous.

Eventually I tuned them out. For the next few moments my world consisted of my opponent and the task at hand, victory. I raised a hand towards him and he flinched.

Too easy.

Finally, the last of the rules had been announced, along with any requests for us to play nice. I rose to the balls of my feet as we prepared to begin.

"_Three… two… one…GO!"_

I lunged for him, hardly catching myself when he shifted to the right. I should have expected that from him. Since I was the strongest he had to rely on his speed and agility. He spent more time dancing around me than actually fighting.

I quickly regained balance and turned to him, just as he jumped to tackle me. Easily, I caught a hold of him and threw him to the ground. Within seconds I had what I assumed to be a secure grip on his arm and my knee in his back. The others were ready to declare victory in my favor, but I knew better. My brother was not one to sit down and lose.

No sooner had I thought that did he fluidly slipped out of my grip and pull my leg out from under me. I let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a laugh. He was getting better, and it was amusing. Frustrating, but amusing.

"Someone's been practicing," I muttered, rolling out of his grasp. While I was on my back he leapt for me, and almost pinned me. "Just not hard enough."

"Why don't you shut your trap?"

By this time we were both on our feet, back to our initial fighting stances. He seemed winded, though he tried not to show it.

"Make me," I challenged, fighting the urge to laugh. I don't know if it was my obvious amusement or my constant goading, but it seemed that I'd pushed him over the edge. He hurled himself at me, making sure his shoulder knocked the wind out of me. The attack sent both of us tumbling to the ground. Within seconds he had my arms and legs pinned beneath me. I tried to shake him off but he had me.

"Eight… nine…ten! We have a winner!" Marjorie cheered as Caleb, the new reigning champion, released me. I buried my face in the dirt and muttered words unfit to be shouted in the presence of younger children.

Standing side by side they looked more alike than any of my siblings. They both had the same fiery red hair with matching tempers, tall yet slim builds, and green eyes. To strangers who didn't know of the one year age difference they might as well have been twins.

Standing behind the celebrating party was Theodore, staring as if he'd just witnessed a great crime against humanity.

"What happened to fighting fair?" he demanded. Another red head, his temper was just as bad, if not worse.

"What do you mean? Caleb won fair and square," Marjorie turned to face him, daring him to continue his accusations. Theodore, only fifteen, was two years her junior but a good three inches taller. Built more like me, he should have been more intimidating- but no one, myself included, messed with Marjorie when she gave the death glare.

"All right then," he muttered, walking over to help me up. I climbed to my feet, brushed imaginary debris off my work uniform and patted my brother on the back. He was almost as disappointed as I was.

"Next time Emmett," he assured me.

"Yeah, next time." I braced myself for the gloating that I would soon have to face. One look at Caleb might just trigger round two.

"There's a first time for everything," I muttered, not even trying to hide my disappointment. He grinned at me, and I tried not to scowl.

"This is just the beginning Emmett." My obvious discontent didn't seem to faze him. I had never been a graceful loser, if only because I wasn't use to losing at all. "How about this: if I promise not to hurt you next time, no hard feelings?" He held out his arm for me.

"You won, don't push it." I brushed past him-probably a bit harder than I should have- and walked into our one story house. His laughter followed me inside.

Our house was cozy, at best. When we weren't being optimistic, it was an old, worn out sardine can. That feeling was reinforced by the lack of bedrooms- there were only three- and the one bathroom meant for eight people. The quality of the furniture varied from slightly shabby to nearly falling apart, and hardly anything matched anymore.

It wasn't much, but when there were millions of people losing their houses every day it was hard to complain.

I made my way down the same narrow hallway I'd wandered along as a child into my bedroom. Technically it wasn't even mine. Most of the junk taking up the little space available belonged to one of my brothers. I wasn't neat, but with three other boys in the room my mess seemed trivial.

The short walk had done little to improve my mood. I landed on one of the bottom bunks with a thud, ignoring the loud protests of the weak frame. I was a bit bigger than I had been as a child, and the bed could hardly stand it. That didn't stop me from brooding.

My anger wasn't meant for my brother. Actually, I was happy for him. He'd never beaten me in a match before and, for the first time ever, he could bask in the victory I'd grown so use to. It wasn't something that needed to be said.

The fuel for my brooding was my own frustration with myself. My mind was spinning with moves I _could_ have done, things I would do now that I had the chance to look back, and everything I _should_ have done then. Could have, would have, should have- it was getting me no where, but it was all that would occupy my mind until the rematch.

I was still going over new strategies in my mind when my brother, Thomas, walked in. He and Theodore were twins and both had the same slap-in-the-face shock of red hair. That was where the similarities ended.

Theodore was the trickster in the family- his crowning achievement had been replacing Marjorie's face powder with itching powder, forcing her to go a week without any make-up. He gave our parents the most trouble, and was constantly getting into it with the school authorities. Lately he had taken up the habit of repeating profane words around the house. I, of course, was blamed for teaching him those words. There was only a slight hint of truth to that.

It was hard to believe Thomas was even related to him. He was the only boy in the family who didn't join in on the many wrestling matches held out on the lawn. My mother claimed he was too "delicate" to join in. I wasn't buying it. It was obvious that he enjoyed his books more than anything and he was just pretending. I stopped saying that around my mother- I only had to have my ears boxed so many times.

I glanced at him. He had placed three or four books beside him on his bed, and held another in his hands. He was broad shouldered, like Theodore and I, and just as able-bodied as any of us. Like I said, I wasn't buying the whole "fragile" routine. After a few moments of watching him I turned back to my thoughts.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"So, I'm guessing you lost then?" With the tone he was using he could have been asking me for the time. I grunted affirmation.

"If you're not going to be polite, then I might as well go congratulate Caleb… again," he teased.

"Did he send you in here to gloat for him? Because I'll give him something to think over," I was already halfway across the room. Surely five minutes was enough time for a rematch.

Thomas laughed, but blocked the doorway. I could have easily moved him aside, but he motioned for me to stop. Grudgingly, I did.

"Calm down tiger, he didn't say anything about it." I relaxed. When he was sure I wasn't going to run out and demand a second bout he muttered something as he returned to his books. I could have sworn he said _he's too busy dancing_ but I let it go.

He was already whizzing through the first page of something when I sat down again. As usual, he couldn't stay away from a new library book for more than forty-five seconds. I had difficulty relating to his enthusiasm.

Thomas was the scholar. With the exception of a few school books and magazines, most of the reading material in the room belonged to him, and everything was neatly organized on a tiny bookshelf in the corner. There was no chance of anyone messing with his copy of _The Great Gatsby_, out of respect for him and disinterest in Fitzgerald.

The minutes before dinnertime ticked by and I could feel my frustration start to wear off. Until I restored my honor through a rematch I would not be thoroughly pacified, but I was calm enough to focus on other things. With a sorry attempt at hiding my amusement, I turned to my brother.

"So, what're ya reading there, Tommy-boy?" He hated being interrupted almost as much as he hated that nickname. Frowning slightly, he turned the page and muttered the title.

"_Tender is the Night_." Of course, it was another masterpiece by 'The Fitz.'

"Tender indeed," I muttered, implying the title sounded like some sort of adult romance novel. Truth was, it did, and the cover (depicting a man and a woman, both glancing away like scorned lovers) only added to my suspicions. He tried to ignore me.

I wasn't having any of that.

"What's it about?" The very thought of me being even remotely interested in the so-called great literary works of era was laughable. Still, Thomas tried. I wasn't sure whether I found Thomas' lack of impatience to be impressive or a sign of weakness.

"I've only read the first chapter," he was still calm, though his response seemed forced, as if he had carefully chosen each word of his response.

"Only read the first chapter?"

With that he threw down his book, giving up the charade he'd been managing for the last few minutes. I decided I was impressed- out of five siblings, he was the only one who could withstand my teasing for more than a few minutes. Through a great effort on my part I attempted to hold in my amusement, but failed miserably.

"Emmett, why don't you act your age for once?" I searched his face, wondering if he had intended that to sound like a dare. It must have been the pent up aggression of my previous defeat that made me so willing to see a test of my abilities where there wasn't one. Too late, Thomas recognized the mischievous glint in my eyes.

"Why don't you make me?" Seconds later I had him pinned to the ground, my knee gently digging into the small of his back.

I couldn't hear the footsteps heading down the hallway over his cursing. Any shred of patience he'd held earlier had been abandoned. He was thrashing worse than Bobby Thornton across town after his exorcism trying to get me off of him. Needless to say, it would take more than a teenage boys' fury to curb my enthusiasm.

It would take a mother's rage.


End file.
